


It's Complicated

by ReluctantRavenclaw13



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Original Character(s), Slow Build, genius!Takao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReluctantRavenclaw13/pseuds/ReluctantRavenclaw13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao Kazunari is a simple guy with a complicated life. (HIATUS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old Takao Kazunari

**Author's Note:**

> Will be updated every Thursday (I'm working on my deadline skills:)).

Takao Kazunari is not a complicated guy. Quite the contrary. He is the second most simple creature he knows. The only thing remotely complex about his life or personality is his fascination (one might even say obsession, if one was inclined to be less flattering) with all things complicated. He laughs to himself every time he reflects on this paradox, usually at night when his body is exhausted but his mind seems to have no intention of letting him fall asleep.

  
Takao’s hobby has been a part of his life for as long as he can remember. His mother asserts that from the day that her “little Kazu” was born he was already looking about himself in wonder, his tiny hands reaching out to the world to feel, touch, and explore. Often times, his curiosity has gotten himself and his family into trouble. Takao mother's favorite anecdote is the story of how three-year-old Kazunari, mesmerized by the peculiar motion of his grandmother's speech, reached into her mouth to pull out her dentures. _In front of company._ Retelling the incident never failed to make his father puff up in angry silence and his mother and younger sister burst into raucous laughter, holding their sides and howling. Takao wonders if his father left because the house was simply too noisy for him to stand anymore. He has not really bothered to understand his father’s abrupt departure from their lives; whatever his reasons were, they were undoubtedly simple, clear, and logical like everything else about the man.

  
His father is _the_ most uncomplicated thing that Takao has ever encountered in his life. When he left, in Takao’s first year of junior high school, Takao did not miss him. The quiet man with the pained, gray eyes and permanent frown who occasionally stopped by their home for dinner and a bath, who talked only of work or the news or his life before “all this” was a rather clear-cut case. He was a spoiled only-child who had married below his station (in his grandparent’s estimation; Takao himself reserves judgment on this issue until he is old enough to understand. He thinks this is a rather generous allowance on his part). No, Takao Kazunari does not miss his father. He has little time to do so even if he should want to; there are far too many interesting and complicated things to see and unravel. It would be a waste time to spend a single afternoon on the simple motivations of the man whose only claim to Takao’s attention is the one-time donation of DNA to Kazunari's gene pool.

  
And there are-oh, are there!-so many things in the world to see and hear and explore! Kazunari quickly finds that the world is full of complications, of problems, events, emotions, and physical objects that operate in unfathomable ways and for unknowable reasons. As Kazunari grows, so does his passion. He loves nothing more than walking the streets of his neighborhood or climbing trees in the nearby park while contemplating the latest of his “subjects”. It is exciting, vital work, he knows, but it is lonely sometimes. Takao quickly learns, after being ditched  
by his friends for the nth time, that other people (normal people, he quietly thinks) do not like to have complicated things explained to them. He, personally, does not understand this. Complications are so interesting! Mysteries are meant to be solved! If the teacher did not want him to muse on why exactly the Nationalists lost China’s civil war, she shouldn’t have asked for a report on that subject (he thinks the issue in that instance may have arisen from the fact that his report had been four pages over the word limit, but he was only being thorough!)! Takao refuses to give up his studies, though; they are simply too precious, too interesting. How can anyone not get that thrill from tearing something apart, learning its’ components secrets and functions, and then divining how all those components work together? How can anyone not feel curious as to exactly why something happened? How can anyone not want to understand what motivates someone to react to stimuli one way and another person to respond in another?

  
Takao cannot not understand why people want simple. His classmates constantly complain about having to learn the minutiae of historical events or the intricacies of why vinegar and baking soda react so violently to each other. His family remarks upon on how boring it is to hear the whys of what has happened in the news. After all, they remark, isn’t it enough that it has happened? Takao simply does not understand it; complicated is so much more interesting.

  
When Takao attempts to demonstrate how interesting his passion really is by explaining how the tricks in the magic kit Sota-kun’s auntie brought him from California work or why a specific character in the shoujo manga that Shiori-chan constantly talks about is designed to specifically appeal to misunderstood teenage girls with brown hair and daddy issues, he finds that no one wants to hear it. Apparently, for a species whose constant cry is that of “I don’t understand!”, humans have very little patience for those who try to explain things. In fact, Takao finds, the people around him would prefer not to think at all! He infers this from the frustrated looks he receives in response to his conversation and the sighs of impatience which greet his long essays and answers. His conclusions are confirmed, however, when he comes home from school one day in his first year of junior high to find his mother sobbing at the kitchen table. He stands in the hallway, stock-still, not knowing what to do. She sobs and sobs, not having heard his quiet “Tadaima” over her own sorrow.

  
He has never seen his mother like this. Her beautiful face is awash with tears and her narrow eyes are squeezed tightly shut behind her curtain of dark hair. A letter is crushed in her hand, resting on the kitchen table, and her body slumps over it.

  
“Kaasan? Kaasan, what’s wrong?” he asks running to her side, becoming unfrozen as another tear leaks down her smooth cheek.

  
His mother looks up suddenly, startled despite the fact that he comes home from school at this time everyday.

  
“Kazunari! When did you get home? How was school?” she asks, standing and wiping away her tears.

  
Takao ignores her questions.

  
“Kaasan, are you okay?”

  
Takao watches his mother turn her back on him and stride to the kitchen. Takao is not sure if he should play along with his mother’s charade, or if he should push her to tell him what’s bothering her. She begins to get out fruit for his after school snack and he notices that the letter she had been reading is forgotten on the table. He slips it into the pocket of his uniform as she replies:

  
“Yes, of course. Everything's fine, Kazunari. Now, go wash your hands and change. I don’t want you getting papaya juice on your uniform.”

  
She still has her back to him and Takao is getting more and more worried. He feels as though if he doesn’t say anything now, his mother will never talk about what’s bothering her. Who does she have to tell other than him?

  
“Kaasan. Kaasan, please, tell me what’s wrong! I’ll make the snacks and you just sit down and, and relax, please? You can just sit and talk about it and I’ll make the snacks and dinner, too. Azami can help and--”

  
“Kazunari, “ his mother interrupts and something in her tone makes him quiet immediately. “Kazunari, it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Mommy just needs,” she sucks in a breath through her teeth, “Mommy just needs to not think right now, okay? Go change your clothes, sweetheart, and we’ll eat our snack when Azami gets home.”

  
His mother turns from the chopping board where a un-sliced papaya sits and gives him a painful little smile. Takao looks into her narrow, blue-flecked eyes and sees a desperate plea for him to just drop it. He nods, smiling a little, and says “Okay”.

  
He does wash his hands and change into street clothes. He listens to his mother in the kitchen to make sure she is still preoccupied with snack preparation. He hears the refrigerator door open and close and then the front door slam as Azami calls, “Tadaima!”

  
Takao leaves his door open just a crack and sits on his bed to read the letter that has so upset his mother. He unfurls the paper and finds that it is not a letter, but an wedding invitation. Written on fine rice paper in beautifully drawn kanji and surrounded by impossibly perfect images of blossoming cherry trees is the gentle request to attend the marriage of Takao Yamato and his darling Ikeda Yuri. Takao drops the invitation as though burned.

  
“Kazunari!” his mother calls from downstairs.

  
He glances at the door. For a moment, he is unsure if he wants to obey her call. He needs time to think, to understand what exactly is going on.

  
“Kazunari, snack time!”

  
He stands, tucking the invitation into his pocket to return to the table when his mother isn’t looking. He must remember to keep it away from Azami, too. He hurries downstairs, his mind already buzzing to make sense of this absolute mess.

***

  
That night after dinner they watch a timeworn movie, one that never fails to make them laugh and which prompts Azami to sing loudly and dance about the living room. Their mother laughs and sings along and Takao feels his heart lift a little. Perhaps, sometimes, simple is better, he thinks.

  
Later, when Azami has been bathed and put to bed and he has finished his homework and taken his own bath, he sneaks into his mother’s room. She is reading, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose and only the little lamp on her bedside table illuminating her room. Her face looks more relaxed than it has all night and he turns, having satisfied himself that she is alright.

  
“Kazunari? What are you doing out of bed?”

  
He swears his mother has super-vision.

  
Takao turns. His mother is smiling in fond exasperation. He thinks that this would be the perfect time to ask her what’s wrong, to find out what’s bothering her now that she has calmed down. But he sees her face, open and fond and a bit tired, and he doesn’t want to make her explain and doesn’t want to explain anything himself. It would hurt them both too much, he thinks, to know that it was not her fault, that she couldn’t have done anything to keep him. That he probably didn’t care enough to send this invitation. Most likely it was his grandmother who had sent the invitation; she had always hated his mother and disdained the “wild” way in which she raised her eldest son’s precious offspring. It would not help his mother to hear these things, to have this explained to her. She had said she did not want to think.

  
“Sorry, Kaasan. I had a bad dream.”

  
She immediately puts her book down and pats the bed next to her. As she holds hims and pets his head with soothing whispers, he makes a vow to himself: he will keep his explanations to himself. If people need respite from the complications of the world, he will provide that. With him, the people he cares for will not have to think; they will not have to question his motives or actions or words. He will be the darkness where they can hide, for a little while, from the light. He can give them a safe place to just … be. It’s the least he can do, he thinks, for those who provide him with such an interesting world in which to live. And such amazing hugs.


	2. The Birth of Bakao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you so much to everyone who's commented on this story! I really appreciate your kind words and hope (in vain) that this lives up to your expectations!

It is much easier to observe people when they think that you are a vapid, blithering idiot. It is also easier for those idiots to keep friends. Takao Kazunari learns many lessons in the first few weeks that follow his vow and he concurrently begins to inwardly despair for the state of humanity. He has to admit, however, that it is nice to be sought out and laughed with rather than ignored. Sometimes he has to laugh at himself, at the person he lets himself become on the outside. Sometimes he has to laugh at the ease with which everyone around him has accepted the new Takao Kazunari.

It really is too easy, Takao thinks. He wonders uneasily how repellent his previous personality had to have been for those around him to accept a total stranger in his place without comment. Or perhaps, Takao hopes, there is just enough similarity between the old Takao Kazunari and the new one (or Bakao, as he has taken to calling him) that his “refreshingly, new take on life,” is not so glaringly different. After all, his outward appearance hasn't changed. He may smile a bit more than he did before, pout winningly like he'd seen in teen magazines, and, perhaps his eyes squint a bit more in mock confusion than is strictly necessary, but he is still him on the outside.

There are times when even Takao's outward appearance reveal to much, when his mask slips and he reverts to the old Takao. It is extraordinarily taxing, after all, to play a role every hour of everyday. Takao is still new to his part, as well. He smiles a bit too widely sometimes and laughs a bit too often at others and even, on one terrifying occasion, slipped back into the old Takao and lectured one of his friends on the chemical process of spider-web production. On these days, when he has broken character, he goes home and puts his head in hands and questions and analyzes and researches. He reads more teen magazines than his older cousin Hanako, listens to more pop music than young idols, watches more internet videos than the all of the Media Club members combined. He swears that he hears Naan cat in his sleep. He thinks about his goals before turning off the light every night (make sure to widen your eyes innocently when spoken to, ensure that your face is in Default Smile until lunch when it is appropriate to look grouchy and hungry, be sure to flirt with the girls in chemistry lab) and feels a small—just a tiny, minuscule—part of himself begin to hate Bakao. But, he seems to be the only one to experience this sentiment.

So every morning, when sleep has washed away the squirming feeling in his stomach from the night before, he looks at himself in the mirror every morning and smiles winningly. And, with every stroke of gel into his hair, he repeats, “Simple, keep it simple. It's for them, not for you. Simple, keep it simple” in a strong, clear voice. Surprisingly (to Takao, at least), it works.

Takao has always considered himself rather amusing, but Bakao is dubbed hilarious by the junior high hierarchy and becomes immensely popular. It would seem that all that had been holding him back was his habit of bursting into a room and ranting about the the inner workings of the combustion engine or the way a zit was really just an army of white blood cells fighting an infection. Takao would much rather talk about the combustion engine (or even zits—come, on, who knew, right!?!) than the gossip and drivel he spouts now, but if this is what people need to hear, then he will give it to them. That is what he has promised, after all.

This is not to say that Takao receives no benefits from his new persona. It is, he would say, a mutually beneficial arrangement between himself and the world. In exchange for his silence, Takao gains a better vantage from which to study complications. People are much more open with Bakao than they ever were with Takao. He supposes they must feel safe in telling the rambling airhead their secrets; Bakao, they assume, he wouldn’t even understand what they're telling him, let alone be smart enough to use that information against them.

Takao does understand. In fact, he understands their problems and emotions better than his companions themselves. This is not because of any innate intelligence, he admits to himself. Rather, it is because, while his companions sit there dithering and trying not to think about their conundrum, he considers and analyzes all the factors of their situation, how those factors interact, the contexts that could affect possible solutions, etc., until he can chart at least five different ways to resolve the situation to his companion’s satisfaction. Sometimes he tells them his strategies, quietly, in a whisper, so that they almost think it was they who had the idea. It has earned him a new reputation as a confidant and respected guide that is totally at odds with his guileless persona. Takao laughs at this paradox, as well. If explaining why Mori-chan finds Suzuki-kun attractive and confessed to him despite their fury-filled interactions or how Kato-kun should go about healing his relationships with his teammates on the soccer team after a spectacular incident that led to a red card and subsequent loss is helpful (and allows him to share a just a bit of his hobby while still keeping his vow), then he’ll do it. It also makes him feel a little better secretly studying his classmates.

A very little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo, compared to my last chapter this is incredibly short; I know (*hides in a corner in shame*). Butit'sbecauseifididn'tcutitshortChpater2woul'vebeen4,000wordslongandIdidn'tthinkthatwouldflyandI'mreallyreallysorry. I really am. The next chapter's much longer (again, I'm sorry; I'm a ball of inconsistent trash) and will have *gasp* DIALOGUE! *Runs screaming into the night*  
> ...would I get sympathy if I said my sister is graduating from high school tomorrow? It's true. *exit: pursued by emotional turmoil*  
> ...that's how messed up I am; I wrote my own exit scene twice. And who even writes their own exit scene in the first place??? Yikes. *leaves for real this time*


	3. Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a few hours late; I'm so sorry! I am trash. Worse, I am tardy trash. *weeps in sadness* This crime is especially heinous as so many nice folks have been writing comments and giving kudos. I'm realllllllllly sorry!
> 
> This chapter's super long because the last chapter was so short. Maybe take a bathroom break in the middle. Or a snack break. Or an email-the-author-in-a-fit-of-rage break. *runs away yelling over her shoulder, "I tried, guys, really I did!"*
> 
> RATING UPDATED for minor swears and the author's attempt to write a funny Bakao.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke. (I have my suspicions that Akashi does, but please don't tell him I said that--Wait, Akashi? No! Not the scissors, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!).

The one place where Takao Kazunari does not have to hide is on the basketball court and for this he is eternally grateful to Bakao and to the duo of Endo Natsuo and Watanabe Shōyō .

Endo Natsuo is an acquaintance. He is not one of Takao’s closest friends, but they share interests and often get together with others in their free time to go to an arcade or to the cinema. Takao finds he has many of these kinds of companions as he enters the fall of his second year of junior high. Bakao seems to attract casual friendship with the ease of flies to honey. Endo is not as annoying as many of these friends; he is popular enough in his own right to not have to use Takao to climb the social ladder and he has always been rather kind to Takao, despite the fact that Takao flirts shamelessly with Endo's pretty younger sister (they both understand that it will lead to nothing; Takao knows it amuses Mori-chan to no end to complain to her friends about Takao's attentions and for his part he enjoys battling her witty repartee during lunch break).

Therefore, as Takao is lounging on the western style couch in his living room one Sunday in early fall and his phone rings, he is rather pleased to see his senpai's name on the caller id.

“Takao-kun? Takao-kun, are you there?”

Takao sits bolt upright at the tone of the boy on the other end of the call. He has never heard Endo so frightened or unsure. His friend is a huge bulking boy, the basketball team's small forward, and he decidedly does not usually sound like a frightened kindergartner hiding under the bed during a thunderstorm.

“I’m here, Endo-san. What’s up?”

“Takao-kun, I don’t know what I’m going to do! Ishida-sensei says that if I don’t pass my classes, I won’t be able to play basketball this season! I—Takao-kun, I _have_ to play basketball! It’s my life! And I, well, I really want to go to this school in Akita, but I need a scholarship. Which they won’t give me unless I get my grades up and play well this year.”

There is crackling from the other end of the line as Takao waits for Endo to compose himself.

After a second he hears Endo's tone deepen as his senpai adds more quietly, “ I’m just--shit, Takao-kun, I don’t know what to do.” The boy trails off into uneasy silence.

Takao breathes out. At Endo’s tone, Takao had thought that someone had died, or, perhaps, that Endo had killed someone. This was a dire situation, yes, but not one without solution. Endo was, after all, a third year. He had managed to pass all his classes up until now and, from what Takao had heard, is a fairly good basketball player. He could work with this.

“Ahhhhh, Endo-san, you made me think it was serious or something! It’s no big deal; we’ll get you through this! If it had been your girlfriend or something, then you’d be in trouble. I wouldn't mess Yoko-chan if you paid me! By the way, what subjects are you failing?”

Takao hears the sigh of relief from the other boy in the long pause that follows and feels himself sag back into the couch a bit, too. Endo-san trusts him to be able to help which will make the process much easier.

It also makes Takao feel a bit warm inside, but he ignores that part—he is not the important party in this situation after all—and laughs.

“Nee, Endo-san, we might have a lot more work to do if you can't even tell me what classes you need help with! What's wrong? Yoko-chan got your tongue?”

And with Endo's scandalized spluttering and Bakao's accompanying laughter, Takao begins his work.

***

After the day of the distress call, Takao dedicates every Tuesday and Saturday to tutoring his senpai. Happily for Takao (and perhaps not so happily for Endo), the only class his senpai is failing is English—Takao's best and favorite subject. If it had been another subject, one at which Takao was less proficient or with which he was less familiar, he would have had to out-source the work to a friend. Due to the sensitive nature of task, Takao would have been loath to do so, even to someone he trusted. Endo had come to _him_ in confidence and with evident reticence; Takao would never share his secret unless absolutely necessary or expressly permitted to do so by his friend.

And, Takao had to admit, Endo was his friend now.Takao had not known what, exactly, that meant (which he also had to admit was a rather pathetic truth) before this arrangement had begun, but he was sure now, after the the second month of meeting Endo every Tuesday after practice, spending hours with him on Saturdays at the library or in Endo's home, that he had never really had a true friend.

He had, of course, spent time with his classmates outside of school, had been invited to parties and outings and even, once, a goukon a classmate's older sibling was organizing. Yet, Takao had never felt like part of the group, part of the dynamic (especially not at the goukon; the look on the university students' faces when it was revealed he was fourteen had kept him laughing for weeks, though!).

It was different being around Endo, however. His senpai seemed genuinely grateful for Takao's aide and discretion and showed it in his own, quiet way. On the way to the library on Tuesdays, after Endo had showered and changed, the older boy would ask Takao how his day had gone, had he seen the new superhero film yet, had he “stayed the hell away from my sister. Don't look at me like that, Takao-kun—that girl tells me everything.” He seemed to actually listen to Takao's answers, which is more than Takao could say of most people; his own mother sometimes becomes glassy-eyed when Bakao drones on. To be perfectly honest, Takao was not often sure that he himself listened to what was spilling from his open lips.

Simply put, having a friend was … nice. Takao found that he didn't have much difficulty listening to Endo ramble about his brother's latest prank or laughing at Endo's attempt to imitate his graceful girlfriend's step. It was easy to be Bakao—to laugh, and chatter, and smile—with someone who he legitimately found entertaining. Endo introduced him to new things (trading cards, Basketball Monthly, and kimchi) and new people, some of whom were older and full of exciting contradictions which would fuel Takao's mind's yearning for days.

More than anything else, however, Takao counts Endo as his first friend because it was he that first introduces Takao to basketball.

The second Tuesday that Takao is scheduled to tutor Endo, he arrives half an hour early. He is supposed to meet his senior in the gym after basketball practice so that they can effectively make use of the quiet school library before it closes. Unfortunately, while this arrangement is perfect for Endo, it leaves Takao with three hours to amuse himself on school grounds. There are only so many practical jokes that one can realize before one is caught and so, after Takao has set the next day's traps around the nearly-deserted school grounds and finished his own homework, he has little to do except for wait.

To amuse himself, Takao settles on the steps outside the gym to read a newly released article on the physics of jet engines (cleverly disguised as an idol magazine). He has only just begun the section on propulsion, when he hears the screech of a whistle interrupt the the rhythmic _thud, thud, thud_ of the basketball team coming from inside the gymnasium and he looks up. Light leaks invitingly from the high windows and fleet shadows race each other across the blazing stage. Curious, Takao closes the magazine and stands on his toes to look through the nearest window.

He doesn't notice when the magazine falls from is limp hands, or when the sun sinks below the city's skyline. He is mesmerized by the game that plays before like a intricate, improvised play.

Basketball, Takao decides, is an enigma. A beautiful, deceptive, alluring enigma. It is a game so simple in theory, yet so complex in practice that it makes Takao's heart want to burst. He cannot get enough of the smooth, sudden passes or the quick, delicate shots. He drowns himself in the squeal of tennis shoes on parquet flooring as the forwards go up for the rebound, taking flight as soon as they hear the crunching bounce of the ball hitting the backboard. He wallows in the dance of calculated patterns of passes and the intuitive, reflexive movements of the experienced defenders. Basketball is so beautiful, it steals his breath and makes him pant. It makes his fingers twitch and his bones ache with want to step onto a court, any court. It compels him to observe each player carefully with the intensity of a lover and lulls him into unconsciously constructing plays for them in his mind. _If only they used they their speed more effectively, if only they passed to the left and implemented a double screen to open up their shooting guard, if only …_

It is no accident that Takao arrives an hour early to retrieve Endo from basketball practice every following Tuesday.

***

After the fifth week of Takao creeping in quietly and watching from the sidelines, Endo begins to add “What did you think of practice?” to his round of usual questions as they walk to the library. Takao's answer is always the same and always completely truthful:

“Nee, Endo-san, you don't need me to tell you that it was awesome. I'm no cheerleader! I thought that was Yoko-chan's job. Though, I would look excellent one of those skirts …”

Takao thinks that Endo must have gotten tired of this answer for, on the seventh Saturday they spend together, when Endo insists that they take a study break, he finds himself being led to the local basketball court.

It is a decrepit little thing, like everything else in their neighborhood. The blacktop is crumbling away, the hoops slightly bent, the nets non-existent. A group of older men are scattered on the sidelines, laughing and shoving each other, gulping fiercely from water bottles. Endo sighs.

“Looks as though we'll have to wait for their game to finish.”

Takao laughs, “Yeah, senpai, you look so eager to get back to studying.”

Endo smiles and cuffs him over the head as they plop themselves on the edge of the court. “Be quiet, Takao-kun. And don't pretend that you mind. I've see you watching our practices. Ito-kun is convinced that you have a crush on him.”

Takao lets out a cackling laugh and falls sideways onto his senpai's shoulder. “That first year forward? Poor kid! Tall and serious is soooooo not my type! Plus, Endo-san knows that I have eyes only for him! If it wasn't for Yoko-chan—”

Endo pushes him off his shoulder and rolls his eyes, “Save it, Takao-kun. The game's starting and if you want to be able to keep up with me, you better concentrate.”

It's Takao's turn to roll his eyes and he throws himself around to face the court and the men who are trickling back onto it. “Ari, ari, Endo-san! I thought we were just shooting around anyway.”

Takao doesn't actually mind watching the others play. The men are untrained, their skills unpolished and unpracticed compared to the uniformity of Endo's team, but their play is full of fire and passion, their eyes wide and full of determination. There is no referee, no score-keeper. The fouls are many and un-lamented, and the turnovers frequent. These are the rough edges of the gameplay, but moments of perfect synchronicity and shared purpose weave them together to create something that rivals of the organized teams Takao has observed.

A smooth entry pass to the post culminates in a punishing dunk over a friend's head. A hard screen leaves a shooter wide open for a blessedly uncontested shot. Moments like these are rare, but heralded by yells of “Nice shot!” and sweat-soaked back-slaps, by groans and shouts of “Don't mind!” It is less scripted than the basketball he has seen before, less meticulous, but purer for it. Watching, Takao is reminded of nothing so much as a wild beast during a hunt; the unrestrained joy in the chase, the pleasure of the muscles straining, lungs burning, eyes streaming in the wind of one's own slipstream. This is where basketball lives, where it breeds and breathes and is born again anew.

Occasionally, Endo leans over and points out a particularly fine shot or a especially tricky pass. Takao nods appreciatively, marking the player for the next few plays, memorizing their movements for later analysis. Tonight, he knows, he will not sleep. He will lie in bed, as he has after many Tuesday sessions, and deconstruct a particular play, disassemble a textbook shot, dismantle the motion of rock-back dribbling. Perhaps this time he will discover why he is so fascinated by this game, in all its forms and flavors, its deceptive simplicity and unending complexity (Takao does not hold out much hope of deciphering this mystery; he has tried before, repeatedly, and not succeeded. He despairs he never will).

After twenty minutes of comfortable commentary and intense observation, Takao watches as the men take another break. Several break away, grabbing still-open bags and donning sweat pants and clean t-shirts. The few that are left count themselves off and form teams of three, a few of the more outwardly exhausted of them settling on the sidelines in order to rest. Takao stretches, his legs going numb from sitting for so long, and feels Endo look at him.

“Want to ask if we can join?” He gestures at the game.

A sudden pit forms in Takao's stomach, a knot of feeling twisting his intestines as he watches two of the men play janken pon for first possession. He knows how Bakao would react, how he would laughingly acquiesce. Bakao is up for anything, he glories in casual games, in foolery and fun. But Takao—Takao can't bring himself to say yes.

Takao Kazunari is not sentimental, and no matter how much Bakao pouts and whines about feeling and romanticism, Takao knows that his facade is too shallow to actually mean any of it. Yet, as he watches the first few moments of the game, neither Takao nor Bakao can bring themselves to agree to Endo's proposition. There is something sacred about the game, something even he is not willing to take lightly. If he steps onto the court, Takao knows he will embarrass himself. There is no other logical alternative; he has never picked up a basketball before, let alone actually played in a game. Takao can see multiple different scenarios stemming from a “yes” and all of them, even the least plausible, end in his ruining the game as a product of his incompetence. And, although Takao Kazunari is not sentimental, he cannot bring himself to do that.

“Ahh, Endo-san, you know that wouldn't be fair! I would totally outclass these guys with my amazing skills! It's okay to beat you Endo-san—we already know who the better player is here—but those guys are just innocent bystanders! It would be too cruel!”

Endo-san laughs at the outrageously righteous expression that Takao pastes on his face and says, “Takao-kun, Yoko-chan is right. You are crazy!”

Takao gasps dramatically, “What?! No, not Yoko-chan! I'm wounded, mortally so! How will I find the will to survive if my true love dismisses me in such a manner! My heart beats its last!”

The tight knot remains clenched in Takao's stomach as he flails in mock agony, Endo laughing beside him. It throbs throughout the game, and as the men finally clear the court, it tightens as Endo bounces the ball a few times in the fading light. The knot lengthens and stretches, enveloping the whole of Takao's core when Endo passes him the ball and he holds the textured sphere for the first time in his life.

It's gone by the time the ball feels at home in Takao's hands and darkness hides the grin splitting his face.

***

Takao begins to look forward to the day. It becomes easier to be Bakao, if he knows he can watch the team practice after school on Tuesdays. It becomes easier to stomach his own smiles and laughter, if he knows he can run home and watch the JBA game on his laptop or borrow his neighbor's basketball to dribble in the street. It becomes easier to look at himself in the mirror in the morning and prepare for another day in which he will “Keep it simple,” if he knows that, come Saturday, he and Endo will leave their books at noon and visit the basketball courts.

It becomes so easy to be Bakao that Takao is sometimes visited by a niggling feeling in the back of his head. The feeling usually appears during restful moments, his latest complication unraveled and his mind casting about for new challenges. Quietly, while he is sitting at his desk or preparing dinner for his sister or walking to the gym to pick up Endo, a creeping intuition that basketball is blurring the lines that he has so carefully crafted between what is real and what is pretense ghosts through the back of his mind. It is a disturbing thought and Takao tries to capture it, examine it, and disprove it to himself before he panics outwardly. Inevitably, however, whenever he succeeds in dragging the thought to surface of his consciousness, a classmate will laugh at one of his jokes, his sister will smile at one of his outrageous stories, or Endo will signal for him to come into the gymnasium and watch practice from the bleachers. Takao tries not to think to intently about why he is so relieved when this happens.

***

Takao Kazunari is not perfect. There are times when his estimations are wrong, his scenarios too complex to be viable when tested in the field. He is the first to admit that he is fallible. After all, he is no genius; what he knows (or, rather if one is to be completely honest, thinks he knows) he has learned through observation and careful questioning. When his assumptions are wrong, when he collects faulty or incomplete data, the conclusions which are predicated on this data are obviously flawed, as well. It has happened before, most infamously when he neglected to take into account that his teacher was deaf in his left ear, _not_ his right before sharing his opinion on where the sulfuric acid for the chemistry experiment was collected from.

Therefore, on the seventh Saturday of Endo Natsuo's tutelage, when Endo proves himself to be as complex as a well-fought game of shogi (a high compliment on Takao's scale; a fulfilling game of shogi can take him day upon exhausting day to properly analyze), Takao admits his mistake with a happy heart.

Takao and Endo are studying quietly in Endo's living room, when Endo's phone chirps his email notification. They are only partly finished with a review of their textbook's latest chapter (a particularly trying one on prepositional usage) and both boys are feeling frustrated. While Takao has seen that Endo is normally a very dedicated student, his friend seemsunusually distracted, fidgeting and glancing at the clock. Takao looks up from his place in the book, planning the best wayto explain the next section on the roles of determiners, and asks, “Endo-san, do you need to check that?”

Endo looks up from his book, though Takao had seen his small smile upon hearing the ring.

“That's okay, Takao-kun. It's probably my father saying that he'll pick up dinner tonight.”

Takao shrugs and smiles, “Ah, gomen, Endo-san.”

After several more exasperating minutes of almost no progress, Endo sighs. The older boy checks the clock once again before clearing his throat.

“Takao-kun?”

“Yeah, Endo-san?”

“Takao-kun, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. My head is starting to hurt and I think if I hear you say the words 'adverb,' 'modifier,' or 'idiom,' again, I might hit you over the head with our grammar book. Do you want to take a break?”

Takao mentally translates his senpai's question (“I'm bored. Do you want to play basketball?”) and considers the proposal. They are not making much progress; a break may do both of them some good. Endo is obviously a _kinesthetic_ learner and would probably benefit from some exercise and (if Takao is subtle) a few examples of prepositions learned while playing basketball. Failing that, a small session of physical activity would allow their brains to recuperate and prepare for further intense study. Overall, Takao concludes, a break can, at best, be beneficial and, at worst, be benign (and if he also feels a shiver of happiness run down his spine at the thought of playing basketball again, herefuses to make that a factor in his decision).

“Haaa, what a great idea, Endo-san! Let's go see if we can dribble some of this grammar into that brain of yours!”

They have grabbed Endo's worn ball and are out of the house before Endo's groan has finished leaving his mouth. The older boy is surprisingly quiet (more so than usual) as they traverse the cracking pavement, and Takao wonders if he's pushed his senpai too hard. There are times when he forgets, in light of Endo's hulking frame and hard, tanned face, that the boy is only a year older than he is himself. He is a young adult with all the pain that comes with that transition (or so Takao has heard) and additionally struggles to overcome the shyness of a boy that has always been the center of attention due to his height and athletic skill. Takaoresolves to lessen the intensity of Endo's lessons. They have several months before exams and Endo has been making excellent progress. They have time.

Takao's thoughts stumble to a halt as their regular court comes into view. The narrow stretch of asphalt is strewn with perspiring occupants. It is not unusual for the court to be occupied at this time. In fact, the men from the surrounding neighborhood often choose to organize tournaments on Saturday afternoons and Endo and Takao have had wait for the court to clear on multiple occasions. What is unusual, however, is for the court's occupants to be _the entire first string of Endo's team._

Takao whoops with laughter. Subtle, Endo is not. Beside him, his senpai ducks his head and jogs the rest of the distance to his teammates, leaving Takao to shove his hands into his pockets and trail after him.

“Hey, guys! Why didn't you tell me you were going to play ball this weekend? If Watanabe-san finds out, he'll have our hides,” his senpai calls to the mass of sweating players as he nears them.

The team's point guard, whom Takao recognizes from his homeroom, looks up from his phone confusedly.

“What do you mean, Endo-senpai? You told us to—Owww!”

A tall first year steps on his foot subtly (with a rather pleased look, Takao thinks).

“Sorry, senpai. We thought you'd be busy. Gomen,” apologizes the first year with a look around at his teammates who bow in turn and shout,

“Gomen!”

As he steps onto the court, Takao cannot help but laugh again at the looks of guilt which theteam is hiding with varying levels of success. One boy is even attempting to hide his face by executing an impressive handstand and another by gulping down copious amounts of what looks to be a hideously purple sports drink.

“Endo-san,” he guffaws, “I think your secret's out! If you had wanted to take a break to play basketball with your team, you could have just said so! Now my feelings are hurt!”

Bakao's pout is ruined spectacularly by the smile that is forced out of him as the tall first year face-palms and Endo-san blushes.

“Gomen, Takao-kun. I should have told you, I know. It's just that we have a match with Shōei next week and they have that amazing third-year forward, so … ”

Endo's is still blushing and he looks genuinely apologetic. The rest of the team pretends to look anywhere but their vice-captain. Takao inwardly sighs. He understands and respects their decision to train outside of regular club hours, especially as Watanabe has had to cancel practice twice in the past week for personal reasons. He had been looking forward to playing, to shooting around with his friend and maybe playing a game of one-on-one, but the team comes first. It shouldn't be any other way, really.

“Pfffft, no worries, Endo-san. I've seen the way the team played on Tuesday, and I understand you need all the practice you can get.” Ignoring the shouts of outrage from the second-year forward, he bats his eye lashes maniacally, “And I would _never_ turn down an opportunity to watch Ito-kun play.”

The eyes of the forward in question widen comically and the rest of the team bursts into relieved giggles. Endo glares sternly at Takao, but the younger boy can see his senpai's eyes dancing with laughter.

“Who said you could watch? We're going to scrimmage and we'll have uneven teams unless you play.”

Takao's heart stopped beating for a moment before restarting in double-time. This was not something he had prepared for, not something he had ever expected. Endo was not stupid, Takao was sure, and the fact that the boy had invited only four other players when he had clearly planned the event (replete with message alerts signals and cover-story) could only mean that Endo had specifically intended for Takao to play today, had lured him here with the intention of forcing Takao to embarrass himself—

Takao takes a quiet breath and grins. Endo Natsuo will pay.

“Ehhhh? If you don't think I'll slow you down, senpai.”

***

“Takao-kun, here!” shouts Kaneko Hachiuma from the left wing and Takao sees him square up, preparing for a pass. However, Takao also sees Hayashi Kane, the second-year marking Kaneko, moving to intercept the pass.

“Hai! he yells and fakes left.

Hayashi takes the bait and runs forward, leaving the his teammate Takahashi Haro to guard the much-taller Ito on his own. Takao drives right, pulling Endo and Takahasi to the wing and bounces the ball to Ito Isi mid-stride. Ito whirls and easily shoots over the head of his shorter senpai.

“Nice move, Takao!” yells Kaneko as they sprint down to the other end of the court. Takao nods in thanks, panting. He has never felt so tired, so over-heated, or so completely exhilarated as he does in this moment. Ito slaps him on the arm as he speeds past to the post and Takao cannot help but grin.

His grin grows as he turns and meets Endo at the top of the arc. His senpai is playing on the wing, letting his junior play in the post and practice against a taller opponent. Takao suspects that Endo is grooming Takahashi to take his spot as small forward after he leaves in the spring and, despite his absolute fury at having been manipulated, he admires Endo's sacrifice and his cunning.

But, Takao thinks, as he watches Endo's dribble falter as his senior scans the court, he's still going to crush him. Without turning, Takao can see Takahashi cut towards him, knows from the bruises he's taken in the last hour that Takahashi will set a screen for Endo and that his senpai will sprint past the slower Ito for a lay-up. It's happened before and he's been unable to stop himself from running into the screen he can always see creeping up on him from behind.

Takao grits his teeth in anticipation of the screen's impact (for such a small boy, Takahashi screens with the force of a minor tsunami) and as soon as he feels the contact, he rolls toward the basket, clipping Takahashi's left shoulder as he does so. He is just in time; Endo is quick for a boy of his bulk and the pass is already leaving Hayashi's hands. Takao pushes himself just a bit faster.

He intercepts the pass, pitching forward, and he sees Kaneko pivot and run for the other end of the court. Calculating the angle, he straightens and pelts the ball toward the running point guard.

“Kaneko!”

Kaneko turns, receives the pass, and Takao is suddenly sprinting again because the other boy has dropped the pass (again). Seeing his opportunity, he confronts Hayashi, who's taken advantage of his junior's fumble and stolen the ball. Takao sees Kaneko's frowning face ahead of him, watches Ito, Endo, and Takahashi running back down the court behind him.

Hayashi is the starting point guard, much more talented than Takao and with much more experience. Perhaps that is why he allows himself to dribble laxly, not guarding the ball and letting it jump to the height of his waist rather than safely nearer the ground or perhaps the point guard is simply too fatigued to be careful; he had been playing before Takao arrived. Regardless, Takao sees his opportunity. As his senior crosses the ball behind his back, Takao reaches out and snatches the ball once again. In a flash, he sees Endo has come to help his teammate and Takao can see Hayashi turn to flank him from the right. Covered from the from and the side, Takao can still see Kaneko, slightly ahead and un-defended.

Takao see the court from above, sees his position and Kaneko's and remembers a play he's seen in a recent JBA game. It would require more skill that he has, he thinks calmly, but it's worth a shot. He knows that Kaneko will begin to lose confidence after his fumble. He has to act quickly to ensure that the younger boy knows he's still trusted and this is the perfect opportunity. Making a split-second decision, Takao lurches forward with a yell to his teammate and flicks the ball to Kaneko from behind his back as he runs beside him, still being marked by Endo and Hayashi.

The angle of the pass is slightly off, Takao has miscalculated, but Kaneko reaches back and grabs the ball from the air. The advantage of his head start has been lost, however. Takao curses, racing to reach Kaneko before the others. Ito, long legs and regular conditioning in his favor, is already ahead of him. A series of passes ensue, from Kaneko to Ito and back, making the already breathless defenders lose their marks and Kaneko pulls up for an elbow shot. He scores and grins.

“Nice, Kaneko!” pants Takao.

“Alright, let's call it for now!” announces Endo and Ito smirks.

Takao groans and flops on the ground in gratitude. He does not even consider what Bakao would do, he is simply so tired that he is almost certain he will never move again. After a moment's thought, he flops down more fully on the blacktop for extra flair, dramatically flips his arm over his eyes, and mentally declares himself sufficiently in-character.

“Ahhhhh, Takao-san, are you okay? You haven't died have you?” Kaneko stands over him, his face floating in front of Takao's vision like an amused, pimpled moon.

“Yes, I am now a member of the living dead,” Takao moans, but he accepts Kaneko's hand when he extends it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

The team is scattered about the court. Ito and Hayashi packing their bags, while Takahashi lazily sips from a bottle of Pocari that, judging from a subsequent yell, has been stolen from Kaneko's bag. Endo is at edge of the court, a smile on his sweaty face, talking to another boy. Takao's tired mind begins to whirl when he realizes that speaking with Endo, in street clothes and wearing a soft grin, is the captain of the basketball team Watanabe Shōyō.

Watanabe is a third year and one of the most popular boys in Takao’s junior high. Like the rest of Tokyo, Watanabe has enjoyed the sudden appearance of Bakao (Takao suspects this is because Watanabe is in his advanced Japanese history class and is thankful for the sudden absence of his daily diatribes on the intricacies of cause and effect and the impact of early childhood trauma of key historical figures and, hence, history itself).

Though Watanabe seems to appreciate Bakao, he does not immediately accept him as does the rest of the school (with an almost audible sigh of collective gratitude). Watanabe laughs at his jokes at lunch and passes along notes in class if they are destined for Takao’s desk, but his smile has a curious edge to it and his deep, black eyes are wary. Watanabe is the only one to suspect Takao and his sudden change and Takao feels … grateful. Which is strange, Takao knows, because he is feeling _grateful_ that someone sees through the facade that he has so painstakingly created. He is not quite sure why this is, but has decided to heed his instincts and let Watanabe alone, to not push this new version of himself on the older boy. Takao respects him and his wish to observe and reserve judgment on Bakao. He had not expected that the day when that judgment would be made, however, would be would be today.

Takao immediately begins to replay the game in his mind, analyzing every sequence, every move, every decision. He suddenly regrets allowing himself to be baited, suddenly feels a resurgence of his anger with Endo. It is surely too much of a coincidence that the whole team _and_ the captain are here and Takao feels his sense of betrayal, forgotten in the adrenaline of the game, resurface once again.

He swaggers over to the third-year pair, his most guileless smile gracing his sweaty face.

“Nee, Endo-san, why didn't you tell me that we'd have an audience! I'm not dressed for spectators!” Takao pulls at his overly large t-shirt for emphasis and smiles winningly at his senpai.

Watanabe's eyebrows creep up his forehead at the comment and Endo rolls his eyes.

“You're insufferable, Takao-kun. I don't even know why Shōyō wants you on the team.”

“Ahhhhh, Endo-san, you're so—wait, what?”

Takao Kazunari is not perfect. There are times when his estimations are wrong, his scenarios too complex to be viable when tested in the field. He is the first to admit that he is fallible. Therefore, on the seventh Saturday of Endo Natsuo's tutelage, when Takao accepts a conditional place on his school's basketball team amid the congratulatory cheers of the boys around him, Endo's gruff laughter, and Watanabe's approving smile, Takao admits his mistake with a happy heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a original fic parading as a fanfic, I promise. I just could not deny these kiddos at least a little screen time. Guess who's gonna be in the next chapter??? Three guesses (They're cannon, I'm not cheating). *smiles maniacally*
> 
> P.S. I have just realized that chapter two is riddled with errors. I'm going back to edit, I promise. They offend my eyes, as well as yours and shame the English language (or any language that has grammar, really).
> 
> P.P.S. In regards to the above, I'm a terrible proof-reader of my own work (not other peoples' though, strangely enough) and would value help with ensuring that my work sticks pretty close to cannon. Soooooooooo, ifyouwanttobemybetaIwillloveyouforever. Um, yeah. Thanks.


	4. A Quick Note

Hello All,  
I'm really sorry, I know we're not really supposed to use the chapter spaces like this, but I thought I should explain myself (it's the least I can do). I'm really quite sorry, but I'm going to have to go on hiatus with this fic. I've started working a bit and have rather a lot of personal stuff going on at the moment that needs to take first priority. Also, I want to map this baby out a bit more; everything's gotten a bit wacky in terms of structure and plot timeline (read: Takao's teammates from junior high wanted in and Takao wanted more screen time for them, but I keep telling him that WHAT EVERYBODY REALLY WANTS TO READ ABOUT IS MIDOTAKA AND THE KNB CAST. Well, you can imagine how well that over with the boys ... ). I won't abandon this fic; I love it too much (read: Takao won't let me--GET OUT OF MY HEAD TAKAO!) and I value everyone's comments and reviews too much to do so. However, due to the aforementioned reasons, updates from this point on will have to be sporadic. Again, I'm really sorry for any inconvenience or disappointment (if it's not presumptuous of me to say that) this causes you.

My sincere thanks, best wishes (unless you ship Akamido ... ), and and and warmest hugs,

ReluctantRavenclaw13 (Megan:)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever, so, in the words of Sakurai Ryō, "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" 
> 
> This fic is Takao-centric (with eventual Midotaka, because they are OTP and the cutest couple EVER!) and a bit of a character study. Sooooo...if Takao is a little strange at the moment, that's because he's evolving (he's just a baby middle school-er!) and because I have suspicions that Takao is a genius that hides it with cheery giddiness (he made it into Shuutoku after all). Any comments/concrit/suggestions/advice/smiley faces/angry faces/puppies would be appreciated!


End file.
